


Happy Hour

by Shotgunpicksthemusic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4271511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgunpicksthemusic/pseuds/Shotgunpicksthemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hunt, Dean's finally come to the realization that he's tired of farting around and he plans to finally do something with Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lecygne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecygne/gifts).



> A birthday fic for [nikistiel](http://nikistiel.tumblr.com/). I'm so sorry it's late! And there’s no actual explicit porn, although it is NSFW. Happy birthday Nikki!

Oh, god did he ache. He knew the futility of saying he was getting too old for this shit, and it'd be just his luck he'd end up trapped on a toilet, but the sentiment rang true. You didn't see older hunters much for a reason.

Sniffing, Dean rubbed his hand over his face and shouldered open the door, dropping the weapons bag just inside. He knew Cas would be along behind him; the angel had stayed behind to mop up any straggling demons. Sam had swung by in a beat up old van, taking the surviving victims to the hospital. Sam was smart, he'd have a cover story and have them all carefully prepped before getting there. And, since he hadn't come along on this hunt, he said he'd head back to the bunker, leaving Dean alone at the cabin with Cas.

Dean knew what he was doing. Moose indeed, in size and subtlety, but Dean didn't mind. After everything, after all the bullshit, all the years of doing the dance and pretending he was something he wasn't and wasn't what he was, Dean was done. It was a given that he wanted Cas, wanted him in his life and bed. The demons knew it. The angels knew it--hell, they'd mentioned it time and again. The monsters knew it. They'd taken to taunting Dean once they realized who was hunting them. Of course, that never lasted long, mostly because Dean would separate their head from their neck, which was a very effective way of shutting them the fuck up. Even other hunters knew it, treating Dean and Cas as a couple anytime they hunted together. So, Sam had taken to going on solo hunts, shoving Dean and Cas together any and every chance he got. Dean knew they'd get there. It was inevitable and the build up was even a bit exciting. Pushing the boundaries, trying to see how close he could get, what touches made Cas's eyes widen, what innuendos made him blush. But, he thought with a smirk, he could definitely do with ending the chase and getting to the good stuff.

He needed a shower. The blood that covered him was moving swiftly from tacky to itchy and dry and his shoulder ached. He was only thirty seven but he felt twice that, some days. He walked into the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. Twisting in the mirror, he frowned at the long gashes on his side; they were shallow, no stitches needed, but stung painfully. Mottled bruising painted his torso, thighs and arms. Just another day's work.

Dear god that water felt good. It rolled over his shoulders, pounded on his head with heat and pressure that felt amazing. The cabin might seem rustic, but Dean was a creature of comfort and the shower reflected that. He felt the pressure change, the blast of cool air that meant someone was entering the bathroom and shook his head, clearing the water from his face.

"It's just me." The low rumbling of Cas's voice shivered down his spine.

"I'll be out in a minute, unless..." Dean left it open ended, holding his breath, anticipation coiling low in his gut.

"Unless?"

Cas's voice lilted in confusion. Dean could picture the head tilt and sighed softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

"Wait for me on the couch, man."

"Very well."

This time, he used the door. Dean took a very fast shower. Now that he'd decided to act, he was eager. Almost too eager. He wanted to touch himself, had even wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked, but he stopped, forcing himself to let go. He was going to do this. He would figure out a way to make Cas understand how much he wanted the man.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the door and froze, swallowing hard. Cas sat on the couch, coat, shirt and tie off, arm lifted in the air and half twisted as he looked at a slice in his skin. It sat just below his tattoo (and damn, did Dean want to trace that ink with his fingers and tongue) and was long, wrapping around his side, ending just above the waist of his pants in the back. Cas's brow was furrowed; he frowned at the cut as if it were personally offending him.

"What's wrong? Mojo not working?"

Dean walked forward and sat next to Cas. He noticed Cas glance at his towel and tucked one leg underneath him, leaving the other off the side of the couch, turning to face Cas. He knew this left the towel stretched and it rode up on his thigh. He waited until Cas finally tore his gaze away from the white cloth against his skin and smirked at the flush on the other man's cheeks and neck.

Reaching up, he lightly ran his thumb along Cas's jaw, catching the tip of his chin and tilting his face up.

"Just the scratch? Nothing else hurt?"

"Not as bad as you."

Dean shivered when Cas ran a hand up his arm, fingers skittering along his collarbone, gently dragging down his bruises. Grace flowed through him, warm, welcoming, familiar. A soft sigh escaped and he leaned forward, putting his forehead against Cas's shoulder.

"My Grace doesn't seem to want to work for me, though." Cas's voice was rougher, deeper than before.

"Why not?" Dean lifted his head, but he countered by putting his hand on Cas's thigh (for balance, of course) as he leaned around, looking at the jagged cut.

"I don't know. It aches, and my wings don't feel right."

"I want to see."

Dean straightened up and looked expectantly at Cas. He watched the expressions cross his face, his brow furrowed again, he squinted at Dean, his mouth pulling into a tight line, then his muscles relaxed, his eyes widened, and he bit his lower lip before nodding sharply.

"You should move," he warned, and Dean had never hopped off a piece of furniture so fast. Cas twisted on the couch and faced the back, crossing his arms and resting his head on them.

He was going to see Cas's wings. HE was going to see Cas's wings. He was going to see CAS'S WINGS. If he had a bit less dignity, he might have done a little dance, right there and then.

It was less dramatic than he thought. There was no sudden woosh, no explosion of feathers or displaced air. Just a gentle shimmer and long lines of light danced on the air, tracing the outline. It was a beautiful, brilliant blue, matched Cas's eyes, azure lines that painted each individual feather. They were huge but he'd expected that, having seen the shadows, and immaterial, ephemeral glowing wings of pure light. Dean let out his breath in an rush, not even realizing until then that he'd been holding it. The wings quivered before him, and Cas was as still as a statue, tense, a look of apprehension on his face where it rested on his arms.

"They're...Cas, I can't...Can I touch?" he whispered, reaching out with a hand, hovering just above his left wing.

Cas only nodded, closing his eyes. Dean laughed, couldn't hold it in, when he put his hand on Cas's wing, a wide grin on his face. This was amazing, awesome, in the true sense of the word. His fingers slipped through the feathers and it felt odd, but very, very pleasant. He could feel the energy dancing on his skin and he plunged both hands in. Cas stifled a moan, shifting on the couch. Dean glanced at him, a wicked thought crossing his mind, and he deliberately moved closer, the wing's edge brushing his stomach, just above the towel and leaned over, almost lying on the wing. Cas sat straight up and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who dared him to say anything as he continued to stroke the feathers. Cas's lips parted and he licked them. He reached back, twisting, and, finally figuring out what he wanted, Dean pressed against him, offering his mouth.

The kiss was slow, awkward because of the angle, and not at all satisfying. Dean huffed and pulled away. He backed away from the couch and Cas clambered off, his wings sweeping around gracefully. It was as the leading edge of the left wing swept past him that Dean saw it, and he called out.

"Wait, Cas! Stop."

Cas froze, his smile fading and his expression going stony.

"What's this?"

There, hidden in the feathers was a tiny black spot. It had small, inky threads radiating from it and the feathers around it had a dampened glow. Dean reached in between those feathers and touched it, yelping when it stung and burned. Cas stiffened when he touched it, sucking in a harsh breath, so it must have hurt him, too. Figuring he'd kill two birds, one stone, Dean unhooked his towel, ignoring the fact that Cas's breathing sped up slightly at the sight of his naked body. Reaching in, trying to ignore the feeling of the longer feathers brushing his already hard cock (and he was going to lose it if he wasn't careful because it felt so fucking amazing that they were absolutely going to do this, and soon), he used the towel to grab at the knot of darkness, tugging on it. Cas groaned--Dean knew it had to hurt, but he tugged harder and it came free. Like a burr, it shredded the feathers it hit on the way out and wispy bits of glowy light clung to it.

Cas turned around to face him, then, his wings sweeping behind him but going through the furniture and surroundings. Briefly, Dean wondered why he could physically touch them, if they were immaterial, but he filed that thought away because, hello, Cas was stripping and that was nice. So very nice. Cas kicked off the rest of his clothes and reached out, taking the towel from Dean, wrapping it more firmly around the dark spot. Dean turned then, searching the bookshelves, and found what he was looking for. They always kept curse boxes handy and he held one open and out to Cas, who shook the dark spot free from the towel inside and took the box from Dean, shutting it. They both stared at the box for a moment before Cas placed it on the shelf of the bookcase and turned to face Dean. There was no expression on his face, but his eyes were still wide and pupils dilated, his skin tinged red. Dean was still obviously interested, hard and very willing.

"Bedroom's right over there," Dean said, meeting Cas's gaze evenly.

"So it is," Cas answered, agreeably. The slice on his side was healing now, blue light zipping the skin closed.

"I should probably go over your wings, you know, to make sure they're ok."

"Yes, I think that would be best." Cas nodded sagely, his voice dry and tone matter-of-fact.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean said, a short laugh escaping.

He practically threw himself at the man, moaning softly when finally, skin rubbed against skin. They fit together oh, so nicely. Dean tilted his head, bringing his hands up to frame Cas's face, pressing his lips to Cas's. He'd wondered, so often what kissing him was like and it was very good. Somehow, they stumbled back to the bedroom, hands wandering, and then they were in the room. Cas shoved Dean, smirking down at him as he bounced on the bed and Dean smiled back, spreading his legs and reaching down to stroke his cock. His breath was pushed out in an oomph when Cas tackled him, and then, his wings wrapped around him and Dean was lost.

After, they lay tangled together, breathing still harsh and sweat cooling on their skin. Dean stroked the skin of Cas's back, his hand going in and out of the wings, causing little groans and huffs of breath against his chest from the man in his arms.

"Cas?"

"Umm?" Cas tilted his head, nuzzled Dean's neck and slid a hand down to play.

Dean shifted then, completely onboard, spreading his legs to let Cas do what he wanted.

"I'm not complaining, but you gave it up pretty easily, and I was just wondering why?"

Cas sat up then, cooly regarding Dean. His eyebrow lifted and he narrowed his eyes and Dean squirmed, just a bit, because he looked bad ass as hell and wasn't that a turn on.

"What?" Dean asked, finally.

"Dean," Cas began. He reached down, gathered Dean's wrists in his hands and pinned them over Dean's head with one hand, while kneeling in between his legs, shoving them apart. "Did you forget I can read your mind?"

The last coherent thought Dean had was, "Oh, shit."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who read, comment, and kudo. Y'all rock!


End file.
